When we first decided we were “ready” for children, it was an exciting time. I remember seeing friends with babies, small children at dinner parties, and thinking that it was my time as well. I remember romantic dinners with my wife, talking about whether she was or wasn’t pregnant. Those first months were magical. They were full of promise. And at first when the months would pass I thought nothing of it. Neither did Claire. It takes time, we’d say to each other, and laugh at some joke about having to practice more. We’d plan romantic weekends and try to just relax, reading that the biggest issue for couples trying to get pregnant was that they were just too high strung to let it happen. And yet the ends of months would roll around and silent conversations and knowing looks were shared, with promise and excitement dwindling. But we kept at it. We read all the normal stuff and learned that it can take time and it was no big deal. But it didn’t happen. For months it didn’t happen, and a year, and everyone else was pregnant. What was wrong with us. Was something wrong with Claire? Could my sperm be the problem? Ahhhhhh, there was a problem! This week is national infertility week. So many of us are silent about our experiences. We tell our pregnancy and birth stories, not our infertility ones. Our communities celebrate birth and newness and life. For many of us, that feels out of reach. How can we be more sensitive? What can we do to offer support? Claire and I successfully got help, we’re lucky, and blessed. Many other people are just like us, also lucky, and many others are not. This week is about telling our stories and sharing so that we can all feel a little less alone.